The Games We Play
by It's normally in subtext
Summary: "No! Anyone but her... Please, dear God, no!" Disclaimed right... For Hunger Games and AC fans alike.
1. Starting the Morning

_I, it's normally in subext, would like to take this moment to pledge that I do not own Assassin's Creed or their characters; nor do I own Hunger Games and it's fantastic plot. But, if I did, I would put all the mean people in the world in the games and then laugh as Ezio and Altair rip them to shreds… :D_

_Altair _

He had never accepted it; the way his life was now headed. He didn't want this... career; he didn't want to do this. He watched people outside his window and the envy that he felt for them was unbearable. And putting that to one side to face the same shaped and faced mannequin. The same sword, the same hidden blade, the same old tactics, the same underhand rules he went over. The same slap around the head when he did something wrong, something minor that is. He had scars down his back when he did something "drastically" wrong.

It wasn't that his father, Umar, enjoyed beating his son, Altair saw the fear in his eyes whenever he missed, slipped or tripped. He didn't want his only son to die... but he certainly didn't want him to fail. That would look very bad in front of the sponsors.

But, anyway, he had never accepted that this was his life from now on. That one day, soon, he would have to be a tribute to a frail boy or a lanky shaken man; enter the Games with his District girl and then train and show people what he was made of. He would have to act like he gave a shit about the other people in the world. He would have to make sure that he made an alliance with the other Career's or anyone intelligent and then mark himself off from them so he didn't feel guilty when he stabbed them in their sleep.

It wasn't the killing that he thought he wouldn't be able to do; please the eventuality of this made everything in his life easier; even the prospect of killing. It was the klaxon that scared him.

His cousin didn't get the opportunity to train or prepare very well. He didn't get a tribute because Altair was too young. Every time that the klaxon wailed Altair would jump in his mother's arms, her head resting on his and her hand covering his. His little shoulders shaking as he saw the dark locks on the top of his cousin's head bobbing in the water and then... then the Finale caught him and ripped open his body. The canines sinking into his flesh and clothes and bone as he screamed for relief; twisting away from it, trying to claw his way out. The District 3 girl had found him, killing the hound and holding his good hand, her sweet voice whispered a prayer under her breath. Tears streaming down everyone's face... the dirt moving away from theirs. She frowned as Calion whispered something to her but she lifted him and turned him to the closest camera. His dim lighted eyes caught Altair's as he whispered, "Its fine."

Blood dripping down from the gapping hole in his shoulder and his neck and his forehead... Altair turned away and shook with sobs silently until he heard the klaxon; and then he bit down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

The girl hadn't won; her compassion had cost her, dearly. Forcing her to lie in Calion's blood next to him, her throat slashed twice.

Since then he had learnt that the emotion got you no where but dead...

When he woke that morning he knew, by the way his mother had touched his face gently then ran that it was the Reaping but more importantly... it was today. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and threw up; his head down and his hands shaking. The short black hair that covered his head seemed to recede from stress as his father walked into the room and stood there for a few seconds before whispering.

"Get ready, get a shower, do what you must this morning for this afternoon-."

"I know, Umar, I know." He said, turning away from him and walking out of the room, hastily.

_Maria_

She woke up softly, staring out of the window peacefully. She'd get these few minutes of silence every day; where she would lie on her side and watch the birds flying around the trees; the sun streaming in and the soft wind skipping between the gaps of the trees. Then the houses that lined up away from hers and if you squinted past the lakes; you could see the poorer homes that her mother and the committee were trying so fruitlessly to help.

Their little huts filled the marshes and ponds that we failed to cordon off; most of their possessions were kept in boxes and crates made of willow that floated off of the densely.

But they didn't; they had the nice house in the centre of the district, letting everyone around them believe that they earned it; that they were special; that they were perfect.

Aside from the sunrise, nothing was perfect. And in five seconds she'd be reminded just how imperfect she had it. It was her father that bustled into the room, nosily, ramming into things and pushing things out of his way. His wasn't drunk, he was just clumsy.

She closed her eyes as he drew closer to her bed, careful not to shut them tightly. For fear he would know that she was awake. But it didn't matter to him whether she was or wasn't, he pulled her up by the scuff of her neck, not her dress, her skin; yanking her from the bed as she squealed in pain, whacking her nails across the side of his face and wriggling to be set free. It did her about as much good as paper would in a knife fight.

Her punched her in the throat, at the bottom so that if it bruised no one would notice; he's abusive not stupid. Shaking her into submission, she should have just let him at the first but she couldn't help herself.

"STOP!" Her mother's voice rang out but he ignored her, even as she ran into the room but as she got closer he shot her a look that sent her shrinking back into the wall.

"Get yourself ready; even if your name isn't drawn we want you looking pretty for the Capitol." He mocked, stroking her chin. Then he addressed her mother. "Get her a dress for tonight; if she's lucky, I've got men that want to meet her."

Then she was dropped and whacked into the ground, feebly lying there until he left, laughing. Her mother watched her and danced back and forth for a few seconds before running out of the room and vomiting in the bathroom.

Not for the first time, Maria found herself wishing that her name would be drawn.


	2. Selection

_Chapter 2 guys. _

_By the way, if I begin to alternate between point of views, like theirs and then narrator, don't be too worried. That will happen. I tend not to check. _

_Altair. _

My mother walked me to the Reaping; all the way there, her hand in my, gripping it like a treasure. She didn't even let it go when we entered the square. Looking at me with her unusual eyes, I wondered what I'd gotten from her.

We were nothing alike; she had a light shade of skin and yellow wisps for hair but my father and I had dark olive skin and black hair. She was meek and barely able to stand without the medicine from the apothecary; whereas I was faster and stronger than all the other boys in our humble school. She was as thin as a thimble, and whilst I was a house, I was still board in the shoulders and slender in the waist. The only thing we shared was our eyes.

She had passed the amber orbs to me and I was thankful for that. My father had the blandest grey set that bored into people, although my mother assured me that they once did sparkle. But ours shone, like candle light. Even in the dark.

I'm not sure whether that would help me or not in the games.

Her hand let go of mine but it travelled up to my hair and pushed it back, so that it was kept away from my face; then she pulled me down and reached up; her thin lips pecking my forehead and then pulling back and creating a weakly loose and wobbly line. Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd of mothers and women.

For a moment, I thought about what would happen if I ran after her and pulled myself to her, like I did when I was a child but I couldn't let those foolish thoughts cloud my judgement… for her, at least, I had to be strong enough to survive _all_ of this.

I moved through the lines of people and crissed crossed between the gaps, passed sobbing children and stone hard adolescents. When I reached the table of nurses I was alone, again. The only person there was a pale girl, her ivory skin and brown hair shone in the light. Her body encased in a flowing cream dress, tied in at the waist. She smiled at the nurse and pulled her hand away. But try as she may; she couldn't hide the way that she flinched as the woman drew blood or the drawn back and lost look in her eyes. Nor the dark shade of her skin on the back of her neck.

But these bruise were normal for Maria; in fact, every time I saw her, there was always a new one. Thankfully, none of scarred her beautiful face.

But all that pain on her shoulders made me feel like… I don't know. It wasn't love and it wasn't attraction but it was certainly something. Certainly something I couldn't explain, at least.

I followed her, as far as he could, and then parted into the small throng of 18 year old boys. I moved into the middle of two skinny boys who, if faced with the arena, wouldn't stand a chance. In fact, as I looked around I noticed that barely any of them would last past the Cornucopia.

Then the clock stroked its toll and landed on the four dial and we all stopped. Turned to face the front and watched as the brightly toned woman wobbled up to the speakermic. I watched as her crimson curls bobbed on her pale skin and her green dress clung to the rest of her body, boosting up her chest so that any unmarried man stared with affection.

Her name was Sofia and she was a beauty but she was, also, too intelligent to fall for just any man and too dream filled to waste her virtue on any other.

She smiled at all us of us, her teeth bearing like a grimace and I was reminded of the Finale that took Calion. "Happy Hunger Games, District 4, and may the odds be ever in your favour. Before we begin we have a quick video from our benefactor and leader, President Mualim."

The tape began and I felt my shoulders fall, and my eyes roll back into my head. Mualim's voice drilled into my brain and pushed out other important details that I needed. Like how to walk. To say that it was dulcet and boring was an understatement. It had no accent and no emotion; it was low and long and; he was from the Capitol and, yet. He had to Capitol-ness. There was nothing to his voice except a cold and metallic edge like iron in December.

Then the video was over and Sofia was moving to the speaker, again, her sugar like tone ecstatically yelling out. "Gentlemen first, I think."

She trotted over and I felt my heart leap and jump in my chest, my palms sweated unconsciously and my breath began to hitch. Somewhere through the crowd, I saw a twelve year old girl shaking, uncontrollably, I saw Maria twitch across the way; trying to get to him.

Sofia's hand dove into the bowl and stirred the names around… there were almost double the amount there were people; looks like the tesserae was working. Ten years ago we wouldn't have even needed it but, now, they were a poor district. The fish were going; they'd begun to come back after we stopped poaching for six months but that left us with no income and only the Capitol to support us.

Which they're not good at.

Her long nails pulled out the name, but I wasn't paying much attention – I knew whoever it was, I was going to stand in for- I just watched the girls drawing their breath and looking towards their friends; the strong boys reaching for each others hands. I thought about what it would be like to have someone, other than my mother and father, to care about me. Would I be thinking about them, right now; or me? Would I only worry about their name?

Sofia rolled out the paper and her mouth opened, her shocking red lips pouting as she yelped the name with a happy go lucky style. "Altair Ibn-La'Ahad."

I stared at her and my muscles froze. All I could do was shake slightly, as the wind blew me; all those times... I never thought that I would be picked… I never thought I'd feel what this fear felt like. Like if you take another step, a tribute will come from no where and slice you in two… For moments, I stood there still because I didn't want to go. It occurred to me that; I never would have volunteered. I'm brave… but I'm not selfless.

The people around me moved away and I was left with a clear path, I waited for a second and then I found the strength to move my legs. Left then right. Swallowing, I began a trek up to the Peacekeepers, then we turned and I trudged up to the stage.

As I passed, hands reached up and touched me and mine, cold and warm hands touching mine. I felt tears sting my eyes and my mother sobs reached me, finally, but I kept going. I blinked and blinked until the tears were gone, the lump in my throat disappeared and I was all right, again.

Sofia took my hand and shook my tightly, bring me to her side and dragging me over to the middle and raising my hand. "Let's give a big round of applause to our first tribute."

I looked away as they stared at me; no one clapped, they just had this kind of grief and pain in their eyes. I swallowed and stood firm on the stage; keeping my eyes away from my mother.

"Now, to the girlies!" Sofia called; desperately trying to regain control on the damned situation but knowing that it was probably impossible… she'd obviously never watched the Reapings before.

Her nails dove in and she pulled out a piece of paper, smiling as she read the name. "Clara Fitzwallace Marie."

There was a scream of agony and the twelve year old girl from before buckled, her knees giving out underneath her and she fell to the ground like a delicate petal; her blond hair falling around her face as the colour left her cheeks.

I saw Maria run forward and the older girl grabbed her, pulling her closer to her and keeping her to her chest. The young girl didn't care; she pulled herself as close to Maria as she could and sobbed into her.

I'm fairly sure I'm not exaggerating when I say that every heart in the square broke.

The old victors behind me all sighed and looked down at the ground, all of them thinking the same; she'll be the first one dead.

All the parents looked away, tears in their eyes, all thinking the same; she'll be the first one dead.

The others near her and stood in their groups all dodged between looking at her and away; getting closer and moving away again. Their faces all shocked and hurt like her sobs were hurting them because they knew; she'll be the first one dead.

Maria looked up at me, her blue eyes blazing as she caught mine and her mouth opened. She looked at me and then down at the girl. Back up at me and I saw the cogs turning in her mind. I shook my head softly, catching her attention and managing to get her to look at me. Her lip quivered and she mouthed to me.

"I can't let her…"

I looked away again and listened as she volunteered, her voice shaking and unstable but it was a helluva stronger than the young girl she was cradling. "I… volunteer."

Sofia clapped loudly and whooped for her, trying to rally support from other people in the crowd, but it was useless. As Maria climbed the stage, the entire crowd raised their fists into the air and saluted her silently.

Suddenly, I realised, it had all gotten very macabre.


End file.
